Blonde, with a shallow personality
You know when you were younger and you dreamt of a fairy tale life of long blonde hair and prince charming on your arm? Or maybe you were the prince charming look for your own Cinderella. Whatever. We grow up being force-fed Disney lies of forever after, of belle and her beast, Arial & Eric, or Simba and Nala for those of you who enjoy bestiality. then before we know it we're in middle school sex ED learning about STDs with unpronounceable names and thinking "god they didn’t teach me this on the playground." we're shoved into school dances, dark "multipurpose" rooms, which only purpose is serving gross food and occasionally hosting a dance or two, filled with acne faced boys and giggling girls, and the group of kids in the middle who don't dance appropriately to the chaperones. Expected to mingle and get the balls to ask someone to dance. Often times, neither happens. And finally high school comes, the long awaited adventure, with a rush of marijuana smoke and condom wrappers and you stop and wonder when the fuck did you get this old? And maybe in the lifestyle of teenagers, with alcohol filled days like today. We’re made for blasting the get-up kids and blinking away tears. I’m shivering in the cold, my joints swollen so it hurts when I type. I feel inadequate today, vulnerable to the world. I can try to build up shields but nothing I manage ever seems strong enough anymore.
For the first time ever, there’s everywhere to run but no reason to. For the first time in my life, at least there past years, I don't cry myself to sleep nightly or refuse to speak to my parents. I don't wander around the school with tears in my eyes, or hide in the bathroom stalls with a tattered journal. I don't know if this is me taking a mask off, or putting a new one on. I don't know if this is just me changing on the inside. Through out all this I’ve found that I don’t know myself most of the time. And for the first time in my life, I’m not going to go search for myself. Instead, I’m going to invent myself. Reinvent myself.
Sometimes I wish I was a blonde with a shallow personality. maybe if I was, all the boys would want to do me, and all the girls would want to be me; if I was, I wouldn't waste my life in a small bedroom painted purple with music swimming through my veins and thoughts about life running through my mind. Sometimes I think the only reason anyone stays alive is because the alternative is rather permanament. And maybe that’s why people want to do the things they shouldn't do. Have you ever wanted to commit suicide just for the taste of death, or cut your wrists for the chemical reaction in your brain, or let LSD melt on your tongue just to feel artistic? And everywhere you turn there are people with cases of depression hanging over their heads. Every place I visit, I find that the truth its he world is nothing but Prozac and electroshock therapy. For a while I thought it was some sort of fucked up trend. Now I’m realizing that it’s just that I’m growing up, facing reality. Suicide is a leading killer in teenage deaths. I often wish I wasn't as perceptive as I am. That I lacked depth. That I actually believed that life went to further than my daddy's credit card and hair stylists. I might be stupid, shallow, naive, but maybe I’d be happier with nothing but gossip and teenage drama shaping my day-to-day life. The world crumbles from everyone’s fingers. I look around and see sad eyes and bandaged wrists. I blast my emo, listening to songs about pain & heartache and being imprisoned. I listen, I relate. I read beautiful books and pretty diaries of unhappy people. I can't do anything about it. I get better as the people around me get worse; I fix myself and forget to pay attention to the people around me. Maybe if I was a blonde with a shallow personality, I’d know the words to say to make the people around me smile. But if I was a blonde with a shallow personality I wouldn't be writing this at all.
For the first time ever, there’s everywhere to run but no reason to. For the first time in my life, at least there past years, I don't cry myself to sleep nightly or refuse to speak to my parents. I don't wander around the school with tears in my eyes, or hide in the bathroom stalls with a tattered journal. I don't know if this is me taking a mask off, or putting a new one on. I don't know if this is just me changing on the inside. Through out all this I’ve found that I don’t know myself most of the time. And for the first time in my life, I’m not going to go search for myself. Instead, I’m going to invent myself. Reinvent myself.
Sometimes I wish I was a blonde with a shallow personality. maybe if I was, all the boys would want to do me, and all the girls would want to be me; if I was, I wouldn't waste my life in a small bedroom painted purple with music swimming through my veins and thoughts about life running through my mind. Sometimes I think the only reason anyone stays alive is because the alternative is rather permanament. And maybe that’s why people want to do the things they shouldn't do. Have you ever wanted to commit suicide just for the taste of death, or cut your wrists for the chemical reaction in your brain, or let LSD melt on your tongue just to feel artistic? And everywhere you turn there are people with cases of depression hanging over their heads. Every place I visit, I find that the truth its he world is nothing but Prozac and electroshock therapy. For a while I thought it was some sort of fucked up trend. Now I’m realizing that it’s just that I’m growing up, facing reality. Suicide is a leading killer in teenage deaths. I often wish I wasn't as perceptive as I am. That I lacked depth. That I actually believed that life went to further than my daddy's credit card and hair stylists. I might be stupid, shallow, naive, but maybe I’d be happier with nothing but gossip and teenage drama shaping my day-to-day life. The world crumbles from everyone’s fingers. I look around and see sad eyes and bandaged wrists. I blast my emo, listening to songs about pain & heartache and being imprisoned. I listen, I relate. I read beautiful books and pretty diaries of unhappy people. I can't do anything about it. I get better as the people around me get worse; I fix myself and forget to pay attention to the people around me. Maybe if I was a blonde with a shallow personality, I’d know the words to say to make the people around me smile. But if I was a blonde with a shallow personality I wouldn't be writing this at all.